


Love of Money

by goldarrow



Series: Silent!Stephen [11]
Category: Primeval
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-17 18:11:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17565476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldarrow/pseuds/goldarrow
Summary: An unusual anomaly catches the team's attention.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Primeval belongs to Impossible Pictures.
> 
> Blade and Lyle belong to fredbassett, who kindly lends them out.  
> Hemingway is mine.

 

 

Love of Money

 

"Jesus, Stephen, is there any angle you can't hit a bulls-eye from?" Ryan's tone was so frankly admiring that Stephen almost blushed.

 

The voiceless clone shrugged instead as he set the rifle on the table in front of him. _Good with rifle. Not as good with pistol_ , he signed.

 

Ryan made a sound that was perilously close to a snort. "Bullshit. I've seen you shoot one of those, too."

 

This time, Stephen did blush. _Still not as good as you guys_ , he insisted, hands flashing.

 

Ryan gave him a searching glance, then tipped his head to the side, lips quirked. "Maybe not with a knife, but a gun? Yes, you are. I'd put you into a competition as a ringer any day."

 

Now, that was unexpected. Not the words, but the intention behind them. Trust Ryan to see below the surface to Stephen's still-lingering self-esteem issues. Stephen felt his blush deepen at the compliment, so he reckoned it was time to change the subject before he set off the fire alarm just from the heat of his face. _Thanks. So, what next?_

 

Ryan grinned evilly. "First we take a break, then we practise close quarters combat."

 

_Not my thing, you know how guys get around me_. Making a face, Stephen gestured widely. His pheromone response to stress was the bane of his existence (Helen Cutter having created him as what Lyle once referred to as a 'living sex toy'), even more so than his inability to speak. The last thing he needed was to end up with a bunch of horny soldiers trying to keep control over themselves long enough to grapple with him.

 

That statement got a slightly more serious nod in return from his lover. "Very true. That's why we're working outside, in groups. Everyone is safe, don't worry."

 

_You know I_ _'ll worry anyway, right?_ Stephen signed back, sighing.

 

"Yeah, blue-eyes, I do," Ryan replied with a quick hug. "I'm sorry I haven't been able to convince you yet that it doesn’t matter to us, that we have your back. Always."

 

_My head knows that, Ryan. It's just. I can't describe it._ Stephen made a face in frustration at his own lack of ability to put his feelings into words.

 

Snorting again, Ryan gave him a cockeyed look. "I can. And it'll take only two words: Helen Cutter. Enough said."

 

Wide-eyed, Stephen shuddered, having to force himself to reply instead of wrapping his hands around his body in automatic self-protection at hearing her name out of nowhere. _Okay, yeah, that's the perfect description._

Ryan's arms closed around him and he nestled into the hug until he could breathe freely again. _Is it okay to hate someone this much_? Stephen signed when he could make himself pull away, adding a plaintive expression for emphasis.

 

"Yes." The simple word helped, then Ryan's next words made Stephen's eyes widen in glee. "There's an entire club for that feeling about Helen," the soldier added dryly. "A big one. Members include pretty much everyone who ever met her."

 

Stephen laughed weakly. _True_.

 

Ryan gave him another quick hug, then his eyes moved past Stephen's shoulder. "Hang on. You might've just been let off the hook. His Nibs has arrived, and he looks perturbed."

 

Shrugging, Stephen signed without having to look to see who had entered, _Lester always looks perturbed. It's his thing._

 

Ryan shook his head. "Not like this." He paused, eyebrows rising. "Now, that's interesting. Charles Hemingway is with him. Bloody hell. Something's going on."

 

Stephen smiled widely. _Charles? I haven't seen him since the conference last month. How is he?_ Something caught his eye, and he touched Ryan's shoulder. _Wait a second. Look over there. What's wrong with Blade? He's looking even more psycho than usual_.

 

Ryan glanced over and grunted. "Not to worry. That's just his interested face." He started across the room to greet the new arrivals.

 

_That's 'interested'? He looks like he's about to start throwing knives._

 

"No knives, not now anyway." Ryan met Stephen's gaze with an amused flip of his eyebrow. "Look at his sight angle. He's concentrating on Hemingway."

 

_Wow. That's unexpected. I thought it looked like Hemingway might have been interested in Blade at the conference, but I didn't see any return notice._ Stephen signed as quickly as he could, knowing that Ryan would be able to follow the fast movements, hoping his version of 'whispering' wouldn't allow anyone else to understand. Luckily, Lester, who was the only one who had kept up with Stephen and Ryan's level of expertise in signing, was facing the other direction.

 

"Close protection specialists don't give anything away," Ryan replied softly as they moved across the room. "Blade took him home after the attack at the conference, but as far as I know they haven't had any contact since then."

 

_Oh. Right. Never mind, then._

"No helping them, Stephen," Ryan muttered. "They can find their own way if they're interested in each other. They don't need a fairy godfather." When Stephen responded to that with a dirty look, Ryan grinned back at him. "After all, you're liable to be too busy, anyway. Lester is looking like he might finally have something for us to do, so our period of utter boredom may be over with."

 

Nodding, Stephen fell back behind the soldier as Ryan greeted Lester and Hemingway, who smiled and shook hands with both men.

 

"Captain, Dr Hart," Lester said quietly, once the greetings were done. "If you'll come with us, we have an issue we need to discuss with you."

 

Stephen throttled down his automatic feeling of trepidation at hearing those words. He was safe and wanted, and had been for some time now. Unfortunately, being male, the words 'issue' and 'discuss' when used in the same sentence still had a tendency to make his stomach simultaneously drop and try to climb into his throat.

 

Ryan's hand on the small of his back steadied him. Not for the first time, Stephen mentally thanked Helen for basically dumping him at Ryan's feet after she'd created him in her laboratory. She'd been trying to distract the anomaly research group at the time, showing her power over everyone, but all she'd succeeded in doing was giving Stephen and Ryan a second chance at happiness after the original Stephen's death in the bunker. A second chance that, after a fairly rocky start, they'd grabbed, together, with both hands.

 

The two men followed Lester and Hemingway to the closest conference room, where Nick Cutter was waiting, fairly patiently for him, Jenny Lewis sitting beside him looking rather amused.

 

"Now are you going to tell us what the bloody hell is going on?" Cutter burst out the moment they walked through the door.

 

Lester's lips quirked in a tiny smile and Jenny coughed to cover a laugh.

 

"Yes, Professor, we're going to tell you what is going on," Lester replied with an exaggerated expression of patience on his face.

 

Cutter responded with a glare, but didn’t say anything more.

 

"Now, if everyone is ready to listen, I'm going to allow Charles to take the lead on explanations."

 

"Thanks, James." Hemingway turned to the group and looked at each one in turn.

 

Stephen caught his breath when their eyes met, as he noticed for the first time that the Health and Safety investigator was actually a trifle pale.

 

"I was sent in to check a complaint regarding frequent injuries occurring at Whatley Quarry," Charles began as he handed out briefing folders.

 

His preparedness had impressed Jenny, if the expression on her face was any indicator as she opened her folder.

 

Hemingway spoke quickly, summarising the first few pages of the briefing packet, ticking off each fact on his fingers. "Whatley is one of the two 'super quarries' on east Mendip. It's located on the northern limb of the Beacon Hill Pericline, near Frome. It opened in 1880 and is now one of the largest limestone quarries in Europe. It's operated by Hanson Aggregates, an international consortium. It produces a large range of materials for the building and construction industries. But all that is just background. The current difficulty starts with the fact that the company employs about 100 full time staff at the quarry and a similar number of contract hauliers."

 

"You're right. That doesn't sound promising." Jenny frowned at the sheet in her hand.

 

"Hmph." Cutter made the particularly Scottish noise in his throat that Stephen always interpreted as displeasure. "Carboniferous Limestone, Jurassic oolitic limestone, near-vertical fissures. The base of the quarry is below the natural water table, so they use that water to clean the aggregate. Then they have to discharge the recycled stuff into the river." Cutter pursed his lips as he looked at Stephen. "Definitely not promising for finding anything."

 

"Or for secrecy if anything does show up," Ryan added dryly.

 

Stephen nodded, but then the next few paragraphs made him grimace and ask, _How often do they get the environmental protestors?_

 

"They come and go," Hemingway replied. "They're not there every day, or even necessarily every week." He pursed his lips. "At first, I thought the number of injuries was simply bad management. HSE brought a prosecution against them not long ago when a man died, where it was found that the company had failed to institute proper health and safety procedures. The man was carrying out maintenance in a hopper and was buried under limestone dust. The company was fined, but it didn’t seem to have any deleterious effect on their finances."

 

Everyone turned to the maps and location information as Hemingway continued.

 

"As I usually do in order to get a basis of personal knowledge to work from, I made a preliminary visit as simply a member of the public. I first went to the children's study centre close by, and found nothing that raised any red flags." His lips tightened and he started speaking mostly to Stephen. "However, when I visited the quarry itself, it was a different story entirely."

 

"You found an anomaly? You saw a creature?" Cutter interrupted, having already scanned all the way through the briefing folder and closed it.

 

Stephen winced. He and Cutter did have the ability (after much practise with university white papers) to quickly filter the significant facts from what the generous would call in-depth documents and the uncharitable would call wordy puff-pieces, but Hemingway's packet seemed to contain only relevant information. Stephen eyed his friend inquiringly. Though not a particularly patient man, Cutter normally wasn't quite this impatient.

 

Lester opened his mouth and Stephen expected him to blast Cutter into next week, but Hemingway simply raised a palm and smiled, which perversely seemed to calm Cutter down. The same gesture from Lester would normally send the professor up into the boughs.

 

"I never saw an actual anomaly, Professor," he said. "But I did catch a glimpse of what looked to be some very unusual creatures stuffed into small cages at the back of one of the rooms we passed during my tour. They looked similar to the creature Corporal Richards killed at the construction site that first day I met you. Perhaps a little smaller."

 

He leaned back and looked directly at Ryan and Stephen. "I went in as a geology instructor researching the history of the area. I managed to talk them into allowing me to bring a student in tomorrow to see the various geological ages visible in the strata of the quarry, as background information for his dissertation. I need you to come in with me as that student, see what you can find, make sure I'm not imagining things. If they actually have raptors in captivity, god alone knows what they're doing with them. And what else they have."

 

Cutter bristled. "We've not seen any signs of any anomalies in that area. If you have to have one of us, I'll go. Stephen is the last person who needs to be going in. You know if anything goes pear-shaped he won't be able to call for help."

 

Stephen flinched. Not that Cutter was entirely wrong, but it still hurt to be shunted aside so casually. He felt Ryan tighten up beside him, and set a calming hand on his captain's arm. Turning back to Hemingway, he caught a fleeting expression of annoyance before the investigator blanked his face again.

 

"Professor, he won't be alone. I'll be alongside him at all times, and he'll have his 'interpreter' with him. I would take you, but I need someone younger, someone who can masquerade as a student but who is also capable of recognising creatures from the past."

 

"What about Connor, if you need someone young?" Cutter demanded. "He's more an expert on creatures than anyone else."

 

Lester made a sound that was perilously close to a snort. "Temple is no actor, Cutter. The boy's completely transparent. If they're up to something, they'll eat him alive. And considering his expertise with the Anomaly Detection Device and the anomalies themselves, we don’t dare take any chances with his health."

 

Stephen had been watching the argument with his hand still on Ryan's arm. He had tightened his grip unconsciously when Cutter spoke, now he released it and slapped his hand onto the table. Everyone except Ryan jumped.

 

_This is stupid,_ he signed angrily. _I'm capable of handling both this decision and myself. Charles, if you need me, I'm happy to come with you._ He placed his hands flat onto the table and glared at Cutter, who had the grace to look a trifle abashed.

 

"Stephen, I'm sorry. I was just worried about you."

 

_I know. But, Cutter, I may be mute but I'm not a child. Connor might know the creatures better than I do, but I'm more familiar with tracking, weapons and physical combat._ Still fighting the urge to lash out, Stephen took a few deep breaths to calm himself. _Besides, Charles and Ryan will be with me._

 

"About that," Ryan interpolated quietly, looking at Hemingway. "If I go in, will I be simply Stephen's interpreter?"

 

"Why do you ask?" Charles inquired, cocking his head, eyes as intent as the raptor Stephen had been almost nose to muzzle with in the bank a few weeks back.

 

"You mentioned age as if it were important. I'm older than the average student," and he grinned when Stephen's hands came up to refute the statement, then dropped again without signing anything, "and my military haircut isn't exactly student-issue, either. I was wondering what effect that would have on your plan. Is Stephen's interpreter supposed to be another student?"

 

"I see what you mean." Hemingway pursed his lips, and Stephen wondered whether the man was more concerned at that point about Ryan's ability to blend in or Cutter's possible blow-up at the idea of Stephen going in without military backup.

 

Then Stephen had a brainwave. He glanced quickly around the room, not realising that he had an expression of pure mischief sitting on his face. When Ryan's eyes widened at him, he grinned.

 

_If you want someone who can protect me, but who is still young enough to pass for at least a grad student, why not Blade?_ he signed, and Ryan sighed and closed his eyes for a second. Stephen fought back his smirk, then glanced over at Hemingway to catch the tag-end of a panicked look before the investigator cleared his throat. Stephen doubled down. _He did really well at the conference. No one suspected anything._

 

Hemingway muttered something under his breath, too softly for Stephen to catch the words, but the intent look the investigator gave him made the words unnecessary. Stephen pasted his most innocent look on his face, and Hemingway shook his head minutely with a sigh and the slightest hint of an eye-roll.

 

"It's actually a pretty good idea," Hemingway said resignedly. "He understands signing, he blends well, and he's quick-witted enough to feign sufficient knowledge of the subject."

 

Stephen turned hopeful eyes back onto Lester, who looked as if he was swallowing a chuckle at Hemingway's glower.

 

Lester, lips twitching just the tiniest bit, turned to Ryan. "Captain, do you have any objection to Richards assisting in this matter?"

 

Ryan gave Stephen a stink-eye that rolled right off his back, before shaking his head. "I have no objection, sir, but if it's all right, I'll leave the final decision up to Blade."

 

Lester nodded. "Agreed. Please call in Richards and bring him up to speed on the requirements. Professor Cutter, do you have any more objections to the plan?" His expression all but dared Cutter to open his mouth.

 

"No, that'll work," Cutter replied reluctantly. "I'll leave you to it, then." He stood and marched from the room, back stiff.

 

Stephen knew he was going to have to apologise to Cutter soon for lashing out at him, but for now he wasn’t going to worry about it. Especially since he reckoned Cutter owed him a slightly better apology than he'd already given Stephen for basically belittling him. Dropping that mental hamster-wheel of who owed whom what, he tuned back in to the current discussion.

 

Jenny had headed out to find Blade whilst Hemingway and Ryan put their heads together to sketch out the plan. Stephen sat back to wait, satisfied for the moment at the direction his own little scheme was going.

 

The satisfaction didn't last long. Hemingway wandered over to pour a cup of coffee as the door opened to admit Blade, and on his way back to his seat he made a very slight detour to pass behind Stephen's chair.

 

Stephen stiffened at the steel in the very soft voice that tickled his ear.

 

"Please don’t. I can handle my own personal life."

 

Swallowing hard, Stephen nodded apologetically at Hemingway, noting the implacable expression and coming to the realisation that just perhaps Hemingway's reputation wasn’t exaggerated in the slightest. Ryan squeezed his shoulder in sympathy.

 

"Now," and this time Hemingway's voice was back to its usual businesslike tone. "Corporal Richards, I trust that Ms Lewis has already brought you up to speed on what will be required of you?"

 

Blade dipped his chin once in quick agreement. "Sounds easy enough. Might be better if I'm not a geology major, though. Maybe phys-ed and I'm a friend of Stephen's. I'm just helping out since his usual interpreter is sick or something." He grinned fleetingly. "That would also account for the short hair. Long hair and constant workouts don't mix."

 

Ryan laughed. "Good idea, Blade," he said, and Hemingway agreed.

 

"That's perfect, thank you."

 

The four men hammered out the final details over maps and company brochures before briefing Lester then heading home to rest.

 

xXx

 

"Are you okay going in without me?" Ryan asked later that night as the two men lay in bed, sated and warm.

 

Stephen nodded, wriggling around enough to free his hands whilst still remaining cocooned in the duvet and Ryan's arms.

 

_You'll be right down the road watching,_ he replied. _I trust both Charles and Blade._

 

"So do I," Ryan sighed, "but I'd still rather be there with you."

 

Stephen grinned mischievously. _Maybe you can carry Charles' bags._

 

Snorting, Ryan hugged him. "Not much chance of that," he protested. "The man is worryingly independent. He's actually a good match for Blade. Which reminds me: Hemingway caught on to your plotting pretty quickly. You okay with that?"

 

_Yes. He was really quick - and really scary. Now I completely see how he got where he is._ Stephen shivered a little. _We sometimes overlook the quiet ones._

 

"And that's where Blade comes in handy," Ryan added, yawning. "He's one of the best we have at blending into the background."

 

_Even if his resting face scares the crap out of most people._

 

"Only when he's not working."

 

Stephen's shoulders started shaking as he chuckled silently. _Maybe. But don't think I don't know about the long odds on the bet whether they'll get together. If Blade finds out, someone is going to be making a close acquaintance with his biggest knife._

 

 "There's no wager," Ryan replied with a patently innocent look on his face. "Now go to sleep, blue-eyes. You'll need to be at your best tomorrow."

 

Stephen snuggled closer again and let himself drop off.

 

xXx

 

Stephen yawned widely in the front passenger seat as Blade drove through the Mendips countryside. In order to meet at the ARC in time for them to make it to the quarry for their appointment, he and Ryan had had to rise early enough that Ryan had been muttering under his breath the entire time they were preparing about the farts of the local sparrows being too loud and odoriferous for his delicate sensibilities. Now he, Finn and Ditzy were following along in one of the ARC's vehicles, ready to park about a mile from the quarry and wait for a call.

 

Stephen was still a little nervous about what they were about to do, even though, as he had told Ryan the night before, he did trust both Hemingway and Blade. Stephen was much more at home in the field, tracking creatures by their spoor and his instincts, than he was in an industrial or metropolitan setting, trying to interpret the actions of possibly criminally inclined people. That was more Hemingway's forte. And Blade's.

 

"May I ask a question?" Hemingway's voice pulled Stephen from his thoughts, and he turned to look at the man in the back seat with a smile.

 

_Of course._ Stephen shifted in his seat and draped one arm over the back to free up his hands, having to brace the other elbow on Blade's shoulder to remain twisted enough. The soldier didn't seem to mind.

 

"Thank you." Hemingway's eyes were twinkling a bit at the slightly awkward position Stephen was now sitting in. "I'll make it fairly quick."

 

Blade snorted, and Stephen grinned internally as the soldier and the investigator traded a very rapid glance in the rear-view mirror.

 

Hemingway cleared his throat, and Stephen pulled his wandering attention back again.

 

"When I first met you after you were shot," and Hemingway blinked, "dear lord, was it really over six months ago?" He shook his head and continued, "Anyway, when I first met you, you could sign and mouth a few words that others might actually be able to understand without the accompanying sound, but you couldn’t write at all. James told me at the time that you were actually incapable of understanding the concept."

 

Stephen nodded. _Yes, that's right._

 

"What changed?" Hemingway sounded simply curious. "At the conference last month, you were writing on a tablet."

 

Stephen smiled proudly. _I thought about it,_ he signed, then shrugged. _Once we realised that I could understand the concept of 'making signs' for 'speech', I was able to start thinking about 'mouth-movement' for 'speech' in the same way as my hand signs._

 

"Yes, I get that: 'mouthing' the words. But how did you take the next step, to actually writing?"

 

_The same way,_ Stephen replied. _I started thinking about the letters and words as nothing more than another way of making my signs. Once I was able to get my head around that idea, it was easy._

 

"I'll be damned," Hemingway said softly. "All it took was a mental reprogramming."

 

_Exactly._ Stephen bit his lip, wondering how much more to say. Then he caught a tiny nod from Blade out of the corner of his eye, so he continued. _According to Doctor Marshall, thinking of the letters as 'signs' somehow uses a different portion of my brain than thinking of 'writing'. Or rather, uses it in enough of a different way that it works._ He shrugged as he made the sign. _I still have no real idea what that word 'writing' actually means._

 

"Fascinating. Thank you, Stephen, for telling me." Hemingway was looking admiringly at him, and Stephen felt Blade tighten up, then relax at Hemingway's next words. "Corporal Richards, on a different subject: we didn't talk about this yesterday, but may I call you Niall today? It's a little more 'civilian' than Richards, I think."

 

Blade grinned into the rear-view mirror. "Not a problem, sir." He looked conflicted for a moment, then added, "But even though you're not playing my supervisor, I think I should still call you Mr Hemingway, or 'sir'?" The words were a statement, but the tone was a question, and Hemingway responded to that.

 

"Yes, I think so. Perhaps you both should."

 

Stephen nodded. _I agree. You're my advisor._ He chuckled silently as Hemingway made a face.

 

"Yes," he sighed. "Unfortunately, I am much more used to solitary investigations, so I'm going to have to rely on you two to keep our interactions moving smoothly."

 

Blade and Stephen nodded. "Will do," Blade replied as they passed through the village of Whatley. "We're almost there. Time to get into character."

 

All three of them dropped into silence and stillness, and Stephen breathed slowly and deeply as he mentally ran through all the details they'd decided upon yesterday.

 

xXx

 

"Good morning, gentlemen, I'm Theresa, I'm a summer intern here at Whatley Quarry, and I'll be taking you on your tour." The young redhead was almost frighteningly bouncy and enthusiastic, and Stephen found himself wanting to hide behind either Blade or Hemingway or both. Especially since she seemed to be eying all three of them in a rather proprietary manner.

 

With a genial grin, Hemingway stepped forward and held out his hand for a shake. "Thank you, Theresa. I'm Charles Hemingway, and I requested this tour for my student, Stephen." He waved Stephen and Blade forward with a slightly admonitory look toward them. "Stephen is mute. However, he is proficient at signing, and Niall can interpret any of his questions for you."

 

"Oh." She cocked her head, eyeing them interestedly. "Are you both geology students?"

 

Blade replied quickly, "No, Stephen's the scientist. I'm going for a physio degree." He smiled easily at her. "We've been chums since we were kids, so I'm his backup for any talking that needs to be done when his rock-happy pal is sick."

 

She giggled, and Stephen suppressed a wince. He started hoping desperately that everything was above-board here. She looked so naïve that the idea of her being connected with anything nefarious was giving him a belly-ache.

 

By the time they were ten minutes into the tour and had been shepherded - with attendant lecture on the history of the company and its current policies and procedures, all in excruciating detail - around the entire office complex, Stephen was thinking he was going to need to take a shot of insulin to counteract her over-the-top sweetness. In fact, he was starting to get suspicious. No one could actually be that saccharine. Even the normally phlegmatic Blade was looking a trifle nauseated, and Hemingway had a smile pasted on his face that would be a dead giveaway to anyone who knew him that he was ready to start writing up Health & Safety citations just for the hell of it.

 

Stephen made a mental note of the doors Theresa had skipped on her tour as they finally stepped out the back of the offices, passed through the courtyard and started down the path to the quarry diggings with her still talking nineteen to the dozen. It had reached the point that if Stephen wanted to avoid breaking down into hysterics he was going to have to avoid meeting the eyes of either Blade or Hemingway, and the other two seemed to be in the same boat. They were all studiously staring in different directions, Hemingway across the huge valley of the quarry, and Blade looking past the chattering intern to keep an eye on their rear.

 

The soldier hadn't even had to use his vaunted signing-to-English translation expertise, as she hadn’t stopped talking for more than two seconds at a time. Stephen wondered idly how her throat wasn’t sore yet as he followed along. Then he almost stopped as a glimmer of light caught his eye from the woodland of trees on their right.


	2. Chapter 2

Stephen hesitated, and the glimmer disappeared. He slowed down, pretending to have a stone in his shoe, and kept an eye on the area, pleased that Blade and Hemingway covered for him, asking questions to which Theresa responded with broad gestures as she made yet another point about the digging procedures. After close to a minute, the flickering resumed. Two seconds later, it stopped.

 

Shaking out his shoe and digging in to the toe with an exasperated look on his face, Stephen surreptitiously watched the woodland. There it was again. And then it was gone.

 

He bit his lip, thinking, then decided they were better off just finishing the tour. At least now they knew that there was an anomaly and that Hemingway had most likely been correct when he thought he'd seen creatures. And they also now knew that such a rapidly cycling anomaly would not set off the ADD. Connor was going to go spare. Stephen gave a surreptitious nod to Blade and Hemingway, and the investigator's lips quirked for a second before he returned the nod with a blink.

 

Following their still impossibly energetic guide, they examined the strata of the diggings in great detail, with Blade finally getting the chance to use his knowledge of signing as Stephen did his best to ask intelligent questions. He must have sounded as if he knew what he was talking about, since the intern was starting to look impressed. On the other hand, Stephen caught Hemingway's indulgent expression and wondered if she was impressed more by their knowledge or their looks.

 

All three men started breathing easier when Theresa turned to lead the way back toward the offices, but they discovered just a trifle too late that the end of the tour wasn't going to go the way they'd thought. The flickering in the woodland caught the eye of their guide just as it flared for a second and a group of creatures burst through.

 

Theresa stopped dead in the middle of the path with a squeal. Blade pushed in front of her, and Stephen and Hemingway bracketed her so she was surrounded and hopefully safe.

 

"Stephen?" Blade asked quietly, remaining still and watchful.

 

Stephen shook his head and shrugged, knowing that Hemingway would catch his meaning.

 

"He doesn't recognise them, Niall," Hemingway replied. "Correct me if I'm wrong, though, Stephen, but they don't look like meat-eaters."

 

Bemused, Stephen stared at him for a second before agreeing. The creatures were small - only about a metre long - bipedal, with jaws that were more like beaks than muzzles, and long slender legs and tails. They had large eyes and short arms with small hands that didn’t seem to have any Troodontid-type claws attached. All in all, they looked a lot like simple lizards walking on their hind legs.

 

"That's one good thing, then," Blade muttered, hand on his hip where Stephen knew he was hiding at least one of the knives that gave him his nickname.

 

They started moving toward the buildings again, with Theresa still in the centre and Blade keeping a weather eye on the little dinosaurs, which had rapidly spread out into the undergrowth of the woodland in a manner that made Stephen wince again. Forget Connor going spare over the ADD having missed the anomaly, Cutter was going to have a fit at having to round up this lot of horrendously speedy little creatures.

 

They turned the last corner on the path and entered the courtyard behind the building, where Hemingway, who was now in the lead, stopped suddenly enough that Theresa ran into him and stumbled. Stephen grabbed for her to make sure she didn’t face-plant into the dirt of the path, in the process managing to jostle Blade just enough to throw him off-balance, too. By the time they got themselves sorted out, they were surrounded by five men holding guns.

 

Stephen closed his eyes for a second, hating the sight of a gun-barrel pointed directly at his face. Sodding hole always looked as big as a rocket launcher's end. After he took a deep breath and let it out, he was able to open his eyes again, just in time to see Blade move smoothly into action.

 

Blade pushed the girl into Hemingway as he simultaneously pulled his knife, and the older man wrapped his arms around her and pulled her down out of the way. Hemingway managed to bump one of the men as he did so, just enough to make the thug lose his focus for a second. That was all Stephen needed. He grabbed the man's gun hand and twisted it backwards as hard as he could, at the same time as he thrust his elbow abruptly into the man's gut. The breath went out of the thug in a rush as he bent over with a groan.

 

Stephen whipped the gun out of the man's now lax hand and struck him hard over the head with it. The thug hit the ground hard, out for the count. Stephen bent over Hemingway, who nodded quickly. The investigator gestured for him to keep guard as he grabbed a large rock and hustled the girl off the path. Hemingway pressed her against the corner of the courtyard so their backs were protected and stayed in front of her, rock held ready for use. Theresa hadn’t made another sound after her initial squeak, and Stephen was torn between wondering if she'd been permanently damaged by shock and thanking fate that her constant chatter had finally stopped.

 

Turning back to help Blade, Stephen paused in astonishment. The other four men were already lying flat out on the path. Two were groaning, one was quite obviously unconscious, his breathing stertorous, and the last one was ominously still with Blade wiping blood from his knife onto the man's trousers.

 

Stephen watched quietly, wondering what the close protection specialist was thinking as Blade stood slowly, face blank and eyes fixed on Hemingway and the girl whilst he pulled out his mobile to report.

 

Hemingway was still crouched by the wall with his eyes closed and his cheek resting on Theresa's head, whispering to the now weeping girl as he rubbed his hand up and down her arm soothingly. Once she was a little calmer, her sobs having trailed off into little hiccupping breaths, he looked up again and nodded at Blade, who relaxed immediately.

 

xXx

 

The four still-living attackers were allowed to watch as the teams from the ARC arrived and the soldiers cleaned up the courtyard, took control of the anomaly, and disposed of the body with no apparent repercussions or even interest from either local law enforcement or office management. The thugs were then escorted by Finn and Ditzy at their most professional into the conference room, before being marched one by one into the tiny office next door where Hemingway and Blade were waiting for them.

 

Unsurprisingly, every one of them folded immediately when Hemingway, backed up by Blade at his most dangerous, started questioning them.

 

As the men almost eagerly answered his questions, their eyes flicking back and forth between him and Blade, Hemingway wondered idly if Blade often cleaned his nails and trimmed his cuticles that way - with a very sharp knife. And he wondered exactly why he was finding it so damned arousing to watch the soldier performing what was basically a manicure.

 

Hemingway was almost relieved when they finished. Then he had to swallow what might have been a fairly embarrassing giggle when he turned the last prisoner back over to their guards. Finn and Ditzy grinned happily at the four prisoners as they lined them up, and the men, if possible, paled even more.

 

He retreated, torn between amusement and frustration, and spent the next few minutes in the tiny office, correlating the individual responses. As a result, he managed, with a few insightful additions from Blade, to piece together a worrisome story.

 

It seemed that the management of the quarry cared sod-all about the flickering light in their woodland. As far as they were concerned fairy lamps in the trees weren’t anything to do with their business. The dancing circle of light seemingly had been there for decades, but no one had ever bothered with it before.

 

Stephen had been very lucky to see it in the first place, as it was only visible from one perfect angle at one perfect height. Anyone tall enough to have seen it - and who had actually accepted that they were seeing something more than just a trick of the light - had been made nervous by its intermittent flickering and powerful magnetic field, and as a result no one had been tempted to explore until about six months ago.

 

On that day, a visitor had thought he'd seen something emerge from it.

 

He'd started investigating, and once he'd established that little dinosaurs actually were appearing out of nowhere, the man had realised that he was staring at a potential gold mine. He'd snuck back in that night, captured the creatures, and started a booming business in black-market prehistoric wildlife. The creatures seldom came through, so he had the advantage of not only a built-in clientele of collectors, but an extremely rare commodity to sell for a massive profit.

 

He'd hired the five men as collectors and enforcers and managed to replace the then-current security personnel with them. The new 'security' men had been effective in keeping everyone away from the anomaly and collecting any of the living contraband that came through. Unfortunately for the usual workers, the new men's methods of persuasion had been fairly abrupt, and had usually ended up leaving any workers who questioned their activities injured fairly severely. Even though the injured parties had been too frightened to turn them in to the authorities, and in fact had lied through their teeth to their bosses about how they'd been hurt, their work absences had still attracted the attention of the HSE.

 

Hemingway frowned at both of his final reports. One was for the ARC, and the other one, highly edited, was for the HSE.

 

"Damn," he muttered.

 

Blade looked inquiringly at him. "Sir?"

 

"The one thing we really need is the name of their employer. And that's the one thing we didn't get." Hemingway rubbed his temples in a futile attempt to stave off an incipient headache.

 

"Whoever he is, he has four fucking muscle-bound, rock-brained thugs frightened silly." Blade stepped behind him and pressed his thumbs under the base of Hemingway's skull just to either side of his spine, then ran them outward along the lower edge of the skull bone, simultaneously digging in and pulling sideways.

 

The muscles that Hemingway hadn’t even realised were completely locked up gave in without the slightest twinge at the oblique force. He bit back a groan of relief as he stretched his neck in a circle. "Exactly. Which doesn’t bode well for the possibility of tracking him down and prosecuting him. And thank you."

 

"We'll find him. Sooner or later he'll make a mistake." Blade nodded and headed over to the door. "We know we need to look for him now."

 

Hemingway shivered. That had been the most implacable tone of voice he'd ever heard. And he'd been threatened by the best at one time or another.

 

xXx

 

They tracked down Ryan in the employee lounge where he was reporting to Lester. The captain looked relieved as he cut his conversation short so Hemingway could bring him up to date on what they knew, while Blade stood looking out the large picture window and making an occasional addition.

 

"Not the happiest of outcomes," Ryan said stolidly when Hemingway was finished, "but at least we do have the anomaly under control now."

 

Hemingway blew out a breath. "True. We probably won't be able to find anything, since it seems to have been an outside job, but perhaps we should check out the offices and computers just in case now that we know what to look for."

 

Ryan agreed. "Blade, grab Connor. He can get into the computers while you and Charles search for hard-copy."

 

Blade grinned as he looked out the window, making Hemingway blink involuntarily at how much it brightened the soldier's face. "Connor's going to like that, boss. He's tripped twice in the last two minutes chasing one really fast little fucker."

 

xXx

 

Abby, Cutter, and Stephen, bolstered by Stringer's team and Lyle, continued tracking down, capturing, checking over and repatriating all the speedy little prosauropods they could get their hands on.

 

Jenny returned to the lounge to update Ryan, with better news this time, as she had done an excellent job of covering their activities, spinning the morning's mêlée and generally shutting down any protests and/or attempts to stop the ARC personnel from doing exactly what they needed to do in order to clear out what she kept referring to as a simple 'infestation of pests'.

 

Cutter's description of the little creatures was much more graphic and much more profane. Also much louder.

 

Hemingway grinned as Connor trotted back in, looking relieved at having been pulled from the field.

 

xXx

 

Hemingway and Connor, backed by Blade, started searching the offices in concert, Blade going through filing cabinets, Hemingway searching desks, and Connor hacking into the computers with ease and muttered insults about the users' lack of passwording capabilities.

 

"It's really that easy for you?" Hemingway asked as he dug unsuccessfully through the latest drawer.

 

Connor snorted inelegantly but graphically. "This one left her password post-it noted to the side of her screen! Didn't even stick the thing underneath her drawer like most people."

 

Hemingway stared at him. "Really? Most people actually do that?"

 

Connor simply grinned and went back to work, leaving Hemingway shaking his head.

 

They'd made it down the main corridor and were working their way back up the other side when Blade stepped in front of Hemingway and Connor with his head cocked.

 

"Stay here," he whispered, and slid silently through the door in front of them.

 

"What?" Connor started to ask, but stopped gratifyingly quickly when Hemingway touched his shoulder and shook his head.

 

They waited.

 

Blade opened the door and nodded them in. "I found the rest of them," he said quietly, and Hemingway heard the chittering.

 

"Poor things," Connor almost crooned as he reached out for the closest cage. "Look at this. These cages are much too small! They're all squashed."

 

"You might want to watch your fingers," Blade said. "They may be veggies, but they can still bite."

 

Connor snatched his hand back. "Right, mate." He bent down and examined the cage. "If we can't put our hands on the cages, how are we supposed to carry them?"

 

They split up and started looking around the room.

 

"Got it," Connor stated. "Here, there's some big metal clips here that have rubber handle things. I bet they'll slide onto the top edge of the cages."

 

Blade nodded. "Good catch, lad."

 

Hemingway stifled a chuckle. Blade wasn’t _that_ much older than Connor. Connor seemed to agree, since he gave Blade a bit of an old-fashioned look at the title. The look passed right over Blade's head as the soldier concentrated on sliding one of the clips onto the bars of the nearest cage, making sure it was tight and out of reach of the creature's beak.

 

Watching the soldier as one by one he made the cages safe to move, Hemingway wracked his brains for any ideas on how to find the purchasers and get the already-sold creatures back. He said as much to Connor.

 

The young man stared at him, opened and closed his mouth a few times, then burst out, "Well, can we take copies of the computer drives? Just in case they might have something encrypted on them? I know the names of the buyers aren’t going to be there, but maybe we can work out who the boss is - maybe by visit records or something?   
We know he came here officially a while back." He then bit his lip and shrank a little as all Hemingway could do was stare at him.

 

"My god," Hemingway ground out once he got his brain working again, knowing he was performing what his young niece would call an award-winning face-palm. "Connor, that's brilliant."

 

Connor's face lit up, and Hemingway added, "Try to get complete disk images. No, never mind. Just pull the drives, get them back to the ARC and check them there. We'll worry about having overstepped our authority later."

 

He turned to Blade, who had completed his cage-handle-attachment and was watching Connor with admiration.

 

"Blade, you and I will get the cages out so Abby can check these creatures and get them home, and I'll ask Ryan to have someone help Connor."

 

Blade nodded. "Sounds good, sir." He grabbed one cage by the ends of the handles and, holding it at enough of a distance to not be nipped, headed out of the room.

 

Hemingway watched him go, then sighed as he caught the tag-end of a wise grin on Connor's face. Damn it. He'd been spending too much time watching Blade's arse and too little time thinking. He should have come up with the visitor records idea himself. He grabbed the next cage and followed the soldier out the door, giving himself a mental kick.

 

He met Fiver just outside the door. The soldier was talking to Blade, offering to assist Connor. Hemingway looked at Blade, who nodded approval as he led the way back to the lounge.

 

Within fifteen minutes, Blade and Hemingway had delivered all the creatures to the lounge, Connor had removed all the hard drives from the office PCs, and Fiver had gathered up all the laptops and memory sticks he could find.

 

Within twenty minutes, Hemingway had pressed the button to send his reports to Lester and the HSE. He grabbed a cup of coffee as he waited for results.

 

xXx

 

Stephen sat at the table in the employee lounge of the quarry, resting his head on one fist and sipping coffee from a cup clasped in the other as he watched Abby, Cutter and Connor on the other side of the room. Abby was checking the last few of the caged creatures before they were sent home.

 

Jenny had disappeared, as had Lyle and Ryan, but Hemingway was now sitting beside Stephen, typing into the computer tablet that he'd pulled from somewhere on his person. Stephen hadn’t had the foggiest idea the investigator was even carrying one. Hemingway must have one hell of a hidden pocket in that tailored suit.

 

Cutter and Connor were at the table next to Abby, heads together over Connor's laptop as they discussed her findings. They'd temporarily shelved any idea of finding out why the ADD hadn't caught the anomaly, the readings Connor had taken from the time-rip needing to be correlated with historical data contained on the computers back at the ARC.

 

The young genius had keyed everything they could remember about the creatures in to his laptop, and he excitedly told everyone that he believed the little things might be Lesothosaurus, or closely related to them, anyway.

 

Cutter frowned. "There are some differences between the creatures and your database, Connor."

 

"Yeah, but that might be inaccuracies in the fossil record, Professor." Connor shrugged. "Or they might be an entirely new species."

 

Cutter made a face that Stephen always called his "yeah, you may be right but I'm never going to admit it" look, but at this point Stephen himself was past caring what the little buggers were.

 

Between his much-too-early rise from bed, the drive, the tension of trying not to make a mistake and get them in trouble during the tour, and then the mad scramble that chasing the creatures had turned into, he was flat out exhausted.

 

"All right, everyone." Jenny's voice garnered instant attention as she re-entered the room with Lyle watchfully on her six. Somehow, she still looked completely fresh and put-together after her afternoon of metaphorical cat-herding. "Lester has been on the phone to the Hanson UK main office. The CEO has agreed that the 'irregularity' should be closed off for safety purposes. After all, having something in the woodlands that might at any moment suddenly start acting like a huge magnet could perhaps be a trifle dangerous to the company's workers." She grinned at Cutter's muttered admiring curse. "He's now being extremely cooperative after that piece of information and the official records of the injuries incurred by his personnel due to the 'fossil thieves' were delivered to him by special courier this afternoon." Her grin turned shark-like. "He's really not interested in having another HSE prosecution for employee endangerment."

 

Hemingway's tablet chimed and he held up a hand. She stopped, looking inquiringly at him.

 

"Yes, Mr Hemingway?"

 

"I just received an email. The HSE cited the company this afternoon for allowing that 'outcropping of magnetic ore to remain unblocked in a semi-public area'. It being, quite obviously, a danger to the health and possessions of anyone, employee or visitor, who happens to be carrying anything metal." He grinned at Jenny. "This email is an officially forwarded response from the CEO and quarry management - most likely as a result of James' urging this afternoon - that states they will have their construction team build an enclosure immediately. Or rather, first thing tomorrow morning." Snapping the cover back over his tablet, he looked around with a smile. "The ARC will only have to watch over the anomaly tonight."

 

Jenny blinked. "Thank you," she said bemusedly. "I sometimes forget that others might also possess a useful familiarity with bureaucratic channels."

 

Hemingway nodded at her, then stood and stretched. "Professor, is that scientifically acceptable?"

 

Cutter pursed his lips and shrugged. "Not much else we can do, I'm afraid. Luckily it's a small anomaly, so it won't take much to contain it. What do you think, Connor, maybe a box two metres per side?"

 

"If that," the young man replied, staring at the pictures on his laptop. "The anomaly isn't more than a metre wide when it's fully open."

 

"Yes, but shouldn’t we allow for it to get bigger?"

 

"Maybe, but from what I was able to find out, it's never changed size yet. And the smaller the container, the less likely that people are going to want to climb inside it."

 

"Huh. That's true, I suppose. So about 110 centimetres then."

 

Connor nodded, turning to Jenny. "That sounds about right. They'll need to use lead panels, welded together with some non-ferrous material."

 

Jenny made a note. "I'll talk to the builders first thing in the morning." She turned to Ryan, who had just re-entered the room. "Captain, you should have a watch placed on the anomaly to make sure nothing else comes through before the container can be built."

 

Stephen had to wipe a grin from his face as he wondered who was going to end up anomaly-sitting this time. Ryan simply blinked at her.

 

"Already done, Ms Lewis," he said stolidly. "Stringer's men are running a rotation, and we've put nets around the anomaly to catch anything small that might come through." He turned to the others. "Abby's taken the last of the creatures back, and she's going to remain here in case they need her."

 

Cutter looked up. "Connor and I will stay for a while, too, then we can take Abby back with us if she's ready by then. Ryan, why don’t you take Stephen home right now? He looks like he's about to fall asleep on his feet."

 

Stephen shook himself, widening his eyes to simulate wakefulness. _I'm fine,_ he signed, then grimaced after being unable to suppress the yawn that snuck out as soon as his hands stopped moving. _Okay, maybe I do need to get some rest._

 

Ryan walked over and pulled him to his feet. "You do that, love." He turned to Hemingway. "Would you like a lift, sir?"

 

To Stephen's shock, and perhaps the surprise of everyone else, too, Blade stepped up. "I'll take you home, Charles, if that's all right?"

 

Hemingway stared at him for a moment, looking perplexed, then smiled and nodded, even as Blade started to withdraw with his face going blank. "I'd like that, Niall. Thank you."

 

Blade gave one of his rare but bright grins, and with no further discussion the two men walked out side by side. Stephen couldn’t help the triumphant glance he gave Ryan.

 

The captain sighed. "Come on, blue-eyes, let's go home. And not a word out of you."

 

Stephen replied indignantly, _I'm not saying a thing,_ and grabbed Ryan's hand to lead him out the door with the sound of everyone's laughter in his ears.

 

He was starting to wish he'd taken Ryan up on his bet last month, after all.

 

 

End

 

 

 

 


End file.
